


Somehow Worse Than a Bowl Cut

by TheScarecrowsCrow



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: For the memes, Hair Dye, M/M, Teasing, everyone knows that hair can't be natural, prank, silver fox?, well maybe it was in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarecrowsCrow/pseuds/TheScarecrowsCrow
Summary: Crowley has been letting loose some of his pent up demonic influence in the form of spiteful pranks.One of pranks comes back to bite him when Aziraphale inadvertently get mixed up in it.The angel has his own ways of seeking revenge.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 21





	Somehow Worse Than a Bowl Cut

Crowley was - by no stretch of the imagination - a  _ good _ demon. Regardless of the terminology, this statement’s intention was to suggest that the redhead was just  _ not good _ at his job (or former job, as it were). 

Throughout the several millennia he had spent on Earth, Crowley had never carried out a deed that could be considered  _ Evil. _ Nor anything reprehensible or vile or unforgivable. The demon had scraped by on clever plots, fiendish plans and wily schemes. The majority of his commendations gave credit to riding on the coat-tails of truly deplorable acts committed by truly deplorable specimens of humanity - an act the demon himself considered to be  _ just _ wicked and immoral enough to support his demonic presentation.

Crowley was now a free agent, no longer a slave to hell, blissfully dutiless - as it were. This wondrous freedom did come with it’s own repercussions, however. Crowley may not have been a  _ good _ demon, but that did not mean he was completely ignorant of the fact that his very nature demanded some sort of mischief to be carried out in his name - lest he become incredibly restless and ‘downright grumpy’, as Aziraphale had pointed out the last time he had went too long without doing something  _ bad. _

_ Bad, _ however, does not necessarily mean  _ Evil _ \- as we have already established. For Crowley has already identified and separated the notions of  _ Evil  _ (with a capital E) and  _ evil™  _ which he himself is very on-brand with. Crowley’s brand of  _ evil™  _ is the kind that causes misery, contempt and distrust (usually with short timescale, but causing a clear hindrance to living a happy, carefree life nonetheless). This type of mischievous upheaval to human society was more than enough to satisfy the instinctual urges that came with being a demon, especially if that demon was a  _ bad _ demon to begin with.

Yes, the evident issue of being free from hell was that the demon was no longer provided with assignments - so he was forced to come up with his own little schedule of human suffering (on a minor scale, he would remind you.)

Crowley stood in one of the local grocery stores, grinning with sheer malice and triumph as his hands deftly carried out his heinous misdeeds. With a little demonic influence and interference, not a single customer in the store felt comfortable entering the aisle he was currently occupying. Any and all CCTV cameras were permanently on the fritz wherever he went, so there was no chance that his foul actions would be spotted at a later date and amended - a perfect crime indeed!

He chuckled darkly to himself - oh how satisfying this latest idea was. He may even see the product of his demonic actions walking about the streets by the end of the day. This was a tricky one, and that little bit of extra effort would be worth the immense satisfaction of an  _ evil™  _ deed well-done.

Without preamble, he reached out to pick up another box. The premise was simple, but the consequences triggered would be many. Crowely had - at one point in the not so distant past - been involved in a particular assignment which had a wide scope for potential working solutions. He was told to  _ encourage vanity and make it almost unobtainable. _

The demon’s answer to this was to encourage the use of box hair dye on a world-wide scale - and make it so that the final product was never exactly like the image on the box. 

Crowley sniggered as he thought back fondly on the low-levels of disappointment and frustration that started (and still continue) to spread - he definitely got a commendation for that one.

Back to his current situation however - this time spent working on that particular assignment gave him a particular ‘insight’ into the world that is colouring one’s hair. One thing he had picked up and stored for later was just how  _ difficult _ it was to achieve that ‘bleach-blonde’ look - especially when the human involved had darker hair to start with. Hair could only take so much bleach before it fried, and a decidedly evil aspect being that some humans would never achieve the colour of their dreams before their hair started to protest.

Another box was lifted off the shelf, popped open and emptied. Yes, a very simple and decidedly devilish plan. Crowley was sure this would have the biggest fall-out yet. He was currently holding a box of the most popular brand of hair-dye - all he had to do was replace the bleach-blonde kit with the same brand’s version of black dye. A small amount of imagination is required here (something that Crowley has in spades) to make it work. He glares menacingly at the black dye kit in the blonde box and suddenly - whilst this kit knows it’s original purpose - it looks deceptively lighter and intends to smell rather bleachy at the first available opportunity. Bright blonde locks will definitely be turning a rather different shade with this dye, and good luck trying to get it back to its original shade!

Crowley cackled at his work once again.  _ Three boxes down, twenty to go. _

\---

_ Three Days Later _

\---

The Bentley pulled up outside of the bookshop with a roar as it skidded to a halt, Queen’s Greatest Hits able to be heard quite clearly on the outside of the sentient vehicle - even though the windows were quite firmly shut. The engine purred into silence as the engine was turned off, and the demon extracted himself from the car as he shook his head in disbelief and made his way to stand in front of it.

“You need to cool it on the volume. Don’t know what’s got you so excitable - but he won’t stand for the ‘excessively loud be-bop’ and you know it.” At this statement, the car lurched forward just enough to bash into Crowley’s right shin.

The demon jumped back grasping at his leg and hopping to maintain his balance, “Ah for  _ fucks sake, _ je- sat- what the heck is your problem?! That’s it, no car wash this week you stupid, insolent little-” The window wipers on the Bentley gave a wave - the car’s version of a middle finger. The redhead inhaled sharply, releasing his leg, “We will be discussing this.  _ Later.” _ With one last pointed look and a disapproving wag of a finger, he sauntered over to the entrance of the bookshop with slightly less grace than usual - given the current state of his throbbing shin.

The door swung open to greet him, and he raised his hands up in a dramatic entrance that no-one was there to witness (but he was ever the method actor, and it wouldn’t do to ever be caught unawares). 

“Aaaaaaaangel, you ready?!” The demon gave the shop a once over, not catching sight of the elusive ethereal being in question. He started sashaying to the backroom, but was promptly stopped in his tracks by a strange reply.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale squeaked from elsewhere in the building, “I- I tried to phone you! I’m not going out tonight, I left you a message on your ansaphone, dear. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, I shall endeavour to rain check with you, if you could just see yourself out I would be ever so grateful.”

The demon’s brows furrowed together in equal parts confusion and suspicion,  _ "Not going out? _ Why not?! Ain’t no reason I can think of, yer schedule’s hardly fully nowadays. How come?” He took a few more tentative steps toward the back room.

“Oh- n- no reason. Well actually, there is a splendid reason indeed. You see I am dreadfully sick,  _ cough cough,  _ can’t you tell my dear? I wouldn’t want to risk passing on this fiendish illness.” There was a pregnant pause as the demon absorbed this information and his expression turned sour.

“There are, seriously, so many things wrong with that statement. Let’s start with the fact that Angel’s can’t get sick, m’kay?” The redhead took a step closer to the backroom, “Swiftly moving on to the fact that I, as a demon, cannot get sick either so ye ain’t passin’ it onto me.” At this point he had breached the entrance to the backroom. The angel was sitting in his armchair facing the demon, a giant tome covering his entire head in what had to be a very uncomfortable reading position. The demon started to approach him again.

“Stop  _ cough cough _ don’t come any closer!” Aziraphale squeaked out again, his whole body twitching as though he might run at any moment's notice.

“Nuh, uh - don’t think so,” The demon was zeroing in on the angel, “Finally, why don’t we acknowledge the fact that when some is  _ sick  _ and they are  _ coughing _ they don’t actually  _ say the word ‘cough’!”  _ on the final word the demon snatched the tome from the angel’s hands to reveal whatever it was that the blonde was attempting (poorly) to hide.

Except, that was just it. The angel was definitely not a blonde anymore. Aziraphale was clutching at the arms of his chair, face beet red as he attempted to glare daggers at the demon, face set in an un-Aziraphale-like scowl.

“I’ll have you know,” the angel managed to grind out, “That as an ethereal being who does not need to cough, I can’t exactly just- just  _ produce one  _ on command!”

Crowley didn’t catch a word that the angel had just said, given that he was one hundred percent transfixed by the unbelievable sight before him. There sat Aziraphale in all his usual pompous glory - with pitch black hair and eyebrows.

“Are we just, are we not gonna talk about what the fuck is going on here - like, is this some kind of joke or…?” The demon gestured wildly at the angel’s hair and said angel huffed and ran a hand roughly through his usually bright-blonde locks. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Crowley.” The angel pouted and broke eye contact in favour of staring anywhere but directly at the demon.

“Oh, but  _ I think we must!” _ The redhead swiftly threw his hand towards the hair to run his fingers through it and check for authenticity. 

The angel squeaked once more at the sudden touch and batted the intrusive hand away before crossing his arms - turning impossibly redder than before. “What do you think you are playing at?!” The demon, having confirmed that the hair was genuine, finally giggled,  _ yes giggled _ at the absurdity of the situation.

“This is  _ not _ a laughing matter, Crowley! This is a  _ disaster! _ I look completely  _ ridiculous!”  _ The angel glared pointedly at the demon. 

“You  _ do _ look ridiculous,  _ hence why ‘am laughin’!” _ The demon stumbled back in his mirth to fall on the nearby couch, clutching his sides as though the laughter might actually discorporate him.

The angel’s mouth dropped open in offence - definitely  _ not _ amused at this turn of events.

“H- How does th- that even happen, what did you even do, how- what?!” The demon managed to get out through his slowly calming hysterics.

The ex-blonde glared at the floor as though he was trying to burn a hole in the carpet (an impossible feat given the amount of anti-fire wards that the demon had forced upon the bookshop).

“It was really rather silly. All things considered I should have been more careful given the propensity for human error, but there really didn’t appear to be anything amiss at the time.” The demon made a noise that encouraged the angel to continue.

“I- I dyed my hair. There must have been some kind of mix-up because this was not the intended result as I am sure you can gather.” This stopped the demon in his tracks, who suddenly sat up very straight in his chair.

“Oh, uh, yeah that- um- makes sense. So, uh, what… what colour were you aimin’ for then?” The ex-blonde fidgeted in his chair.

“Just… Just the usual.” He chanced a glance at the demon, and found himself incredibly suspicious of the intense guilt he was radiating.

The angel took on a sickly sweet tone, eyes glazing over with righteous fury, “ _ You _ wouldn’t happen to know anything about this,  _ would you my dear?”  _ The unspoken threat held thick in the air.

“Ehm it’s, really not, uh… Why don’t you just uh, miracle it back?” The demon managed to stammer, leaning decidedly away from the angelic wrath he was facing.

The angel huffed again, “It doesn’t seem to listen to me, almost as though there is some kind of demonic influence at play. Any comment to make on that,  _ dear?” _ A stalemate of epic proportions had been reached, Crowley found himself unable to answer this question directly.

“Oh well, if that  _ were _ the case, I should be able to fix it… right? No harm done or anythin’.” The demon cautiously stood from his chair and made the arduous journey over to where the ex-blonde was silently fuming. He reached out one hand to gently grasp at the angel’s chin so he could angle the head upwards (trying not to over-analyse the deeper blush crawling down the ethereal being’s neck). His other hand reached up to clasp the side of his head, thumb stroking gently over the pitch black eyebrow as though to rub off the offending dye. 

The brow changed colour before his serpentine eyes, back to it’s usual bright-blonde except… The demon’s own brow furrowed in confusion. He moved his other hand up to repeat the process on the other brow - seeing the same result and far too focused on his task to notice the strange intimacy of the situation (something that the angel couldn’t do anything  _ but _ notice). 

“That’s a bit… weird.” The demon reached up to twirl a lock of hair from the ex-blonde's head in his fingers, the same result but with a far more placeable issue.

“Why, exactly, have you been using bleach on your hair, Angel?” The redhead’s lip quirked on one side, thoroughly amused.

“If you must know, it has been a rather stressful couple of years. Between raising the boy we believed to be the antichrist and facing the ever-looming armageddon, I may have… Well, I may have gone  _ grey.” _ Sure enough, the roots of the hair in question showed a distinct few millimetres of natural grey hair at the base.

“Oh,  _ Annnnngel,” _ the demon said breathily, entirely too amused and emboldened by his current proximity as he twisted another lock of hair in his hand to revert it to its natural state, “First Gluttony with your excessive enjoyment of food and drink, now Pride too? I didn’t realise you were so vain… Whatever sin will you commit next?”

Aziraphale, who was actually rather enjoying the petting, decided reverently that  _ ‘two could play at this game, old chap’. _

“Well, dear boy, I could never commit Sloth - that’s really more your ‘game of ball’ - is it not? I have never slept once since my creation, and I have no intention of doing so either. What else would you accuse me of, then?” The half-blonde stared unflinchingly at the demon as he continued to fix small locks of hair at a time.

“Mmm I’ll give you that one, Angel. You were looking rather ‘Wrathful’ just moments earlier, is that not also a sin?” The redhead continued his work, focusing very little on the conversation (demons were not exactly known for their ability to multi-task).

“Oh but angelic wrath lends weight to a moral argument, so I think you will have to try harder than  _ that _ my dear. Before you even mention Envy, I’ll have you know that I am  _ quite satisfied _ with my lot, if you understand.” The three-quarters blonde raised an eyebrow in defiance, waiting for the demon’s next move and thoroughly enjoying the thread of this conversation.

“Hah! Yes I ain’t gonna argue with that. But I’d wager that you are definitely a bit Greedy - hoarder of books an’ all that. Greed walks hand in hand with Gluttony as well, so surely you can’t disagree with that?” The demon grinned manically, sure he had got the angel with that one - never once turning his attention away from the job at hand.

“How presumptuous of you, to assume that I ever bite off more than I can chew, dear.” This statement seemed to throw Crowley off a bit, forcing him to look at the angel’s face which was sporting a bastardised version of it’s own grin. Waaaait, what did he miss?! He should have been paying more attention to the conversation because this was heading in a decidedly weird direction.

“The same applies to the last one, you know dear.” The angel had raised a brow in challenge. Crowley was just finishing the last few locks of hair, but he was far too confused to recognise that he could probably remove his hands from the angel at this point.

“Nnh?” The demon made a noise that hopefully conveyed his confusion well enough.

“Ah, well, when it comes to the final sin - Lust - I also never bite off more than I can chew. What do you imagine, my dear, that The Guardian of the Eastern Gate lusts after?” The now-blonde-again angel smiled innocently, but the glint in his eyes belied this false demeanour.

Before the demon even had a chance to process this question well enough to answer, he was swiftly grabbed by the upper thighs and dragged forwards onto Aziraphale’s lap. The force of it threw him ungracefully, head crashing into the angel’s shoulder. He daren’t move a muscle as he felt a warm breath at his ear, unable to compute this insane situation.

_ "Do you want to know, dear?”  _ Crowley had never in his life been so close to the angel and everything was amazing and perfect and-

Aziraphale stood abruptly, Crowley falling back on his feet and stumbling a few steps. The angel started to adjust his bow-tie, “Well I am rather cross with you after that stunt you pulled, dear.” He moved onto straighten his cuffs, “But perhaps I may tell you after you have made it up to me with that dinner I was promised, I may even find it in my ethereal heart to forgive you. Let’s get a move on now - unless there is something you’d like to say, dear?” The angel gave the demon a sly sideways glance with a demonic grin of his own.

Crowley shook his head in a mixture of shock and disbelief, “Oh no definitely not. Let’s go now ‘cus you are about to have the best dinner of your life and I’d like to see ya even attempt to complain about.” Crowley had never once sought such swift forgiveness in his life.


End file.
